The Promise of Draco Malfoy
by Kinnu
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a highly powerful wizard, trained in Dark Magic, Occlumency and Legimency, but this fact is unknown to the world. As he escapes from Azkaban and kidnaps Neville, it is clear he wants something. And he now needs Hermione Granger to help him keep the only promise he has ever made. What happens when he finds out he is a Veela as he tries to fulfill his vow? Dark Draco.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

I can vaguely hear a voice calling my name as I am pushed- manhandled- into a room.

_Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draconis Lucius Malfoy._

White walls. A chair. A magic-proof door.

Tinted glass. So they can see me. Merlin, damn.

Three guards. One behind me. Two at the door. Three wand touch-repelling charms.

No escape today. Double damn.

The sound moves in and out of my eardrums, withering away as I strain to hear it and returning full-fledged when I let it go. My eyes remain blind as the rough blind-fold chafes at my skin, my nose frozen as the noise thunders in my ears.

As the ringing in my ears abates, I hear more clearly and realize I am to be interrogated.

Again. After nearly two years.

Two years of alone-ness. Alone-ness. Not loneliness. Never that.

Clearly noticing my regained wits, I am not allowed a moment to myself before I am bombarded with questions. Seeing no harm, atleast no further harm-'What more can they do?-in answering their questions, I resign myself to it. Quite.

_Who are you?_

Voice hoarse from months of un-use, the first thought I can voice is-

I was death once.

_Doesn't it creep up from the corners of your soul and keep you up at night?_

It does not bother me anymore.

_Do you give any allowance for life and love, in your heart, cruel though it may be? _

Love, life and death are synonymous for me. Aren't they the same, albeit in different ways?

You die when death comes to you.

You die every time you peek to see whether death lies in wait for you in the corners and narrow alleys.

You die a thousand and one deaths when you feel love fizzle out, slip through your fingers.

But death? Do not belittle it, for it reigns over all of mankind, never to die, lurk or leave.

_You are delusional, if you think death has summoned you to bring that fated end for others. There is certainly no justification in taking other's lives, seeing it leeching out of their bodies, and deriving a perverse pleasure doing so. Such work is best left to fate. Don't you have any shred of conscience that prickles you for all the wrong you have wrought? Don't you have any conscience, that nags at you to try and right the crimes you have committed, or at least, apologize?_

No.

_No?_

No. How is fate any better? Does it have that 'consent' you speak of from death for the purpose of pulling lives out of men, 'consent' I haven't procured? It is just as me, perhaps more fickle. A bringer of justice, unknown, not understood by mere mortals. Death is not direct, but it comes for you. Just as divine intervention, it reaches you in different forms, but the one that drags you away, un-willing, or maybe not, is the way you least suspect. It betrays that fragile trust you placed in it to not pull you away. Is it not as guilty as I am then?

_What is your valued opinion on core values then? Surely, it is a fictional idea to you, far away from your reach, never to spare a thought for. You have no virtue to speak of, no habit someone might wish to emulate, no skill to unveil when questioned about yourself. Well?_

Core values have no shelf life. First is always integrity, but I do believe you will beg to differ with me on my interpretation of moral principles. You are absolutely right when you say I do not spare a thought for them. If you have to strive to inculcate those 'values', then they did not belong to you to begin with, and in the utter end, you will be left with only that which you had in the beginning of you time. Then, why, must you delude and strain yourself, only to have your heart cut open in your last moments, wide open for all to see, as they notice the lie upon lie, to conceal all that you never were and never will be? Is it not prudent to stay as you are, redundant to be what you are not? To be or not to be, is not the question. The question is, who to be?

_I guess by now you should know enough about loss to realize that you never really stop missing someone-you just learn to live around the huge gaping hole of their absence? Or have you ever lost anyone you love at all? Forgive me; I'm sure you do not believe love worthy of you._

If you have a brother and he dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a brother, even when the other half of the equation is gone? There is no hole, for no one has vacated that place. It is always full- full of emotions, feelings and yourself. For when somebody is a part of you, you surrender a part of yourself to them. Numbing the pain of the edges of your unfinished mosaic for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. Then again, anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realise that nothing really belongs to them. And when that someone leaves the world, you start to gather the pieces of you they left behind, trying to fit them into the puzzle that has become your life. It is better that they leave, for it is truly then that you discover yourself.

_You wish for people close to you to die? I definitely don't feel welcome in your inner circle. Isn't it so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone?_

You aren't invited in anyhow. It is also much brighter after the tunnel of darkness, where your eyes smart at the mere memory of sight, but then, you have to blink at the intensity of light out of the gloom.

_Do you have a contrary answer to every question I ask?_

I do.

_What would you like on your tombstone when you die?_

Before I die, I'd like to clarify that I have wished for death to ferry me across the land of the living by anything except my own hand. But in all its glory and my cursed luck, I shall perhaps have to swim across that river when I reach it, using not only my hands, but also my legs.

_Unfortunately, that is the best joke you have made so far and I have not been tempted to laugh. You haven't answered my question yet though._

I would have, if you had not ungraciously interrupted. Anyway, I'm hard-pressed to say, I've been dying to say, 'come sit by the fire and I'll tell you a heart-chilling tale.' Hear this once, for I shall not say it again. I give you the responsibility of having this written on my tombstone; if you ever remember this conversation and the person you spoke so candidly with. Even if the person didn't.

**And, in the end, this one was the last person left standing.**

_Indeed? I'm honoured to be asked such a favour and thankful to you._

I'm not.

And I rise, signifying the end of the last conversation I intend to have.

Certainly the last stimulating one.

Nearing the door, I take a huge breath, feeling the stale air of the interrogation room, though much fresher then the air I am accustomed to breathe. In my small, filthy, low-ceilinged cell, complete with a jute cot and a thin blanket. Nothing else for the prisoner.

And I abruptly stop, letting the guard bump into my back, his nose red from the frigid air, and now more so from the hit to my bones.

Turning my head just a little bit, I hear the faint sound of footsteps halt, waiting to hear my last words. Satisfied I have made an impression, I let a wry smile curve my lips, tinged with cruelty and I am sure the little reporter has seen it, from the tilt of my head and the gasp that escapes her lips.

Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of what she has waited for, I open the door and walk out, letting the guards lead me to my cell, taking a 'little' fall on the way- a broken nose and a few bruised ribs- from the revenge my 'guard' planned out.

I wince as I am thrown unceremoniously into the cell, my ribs taking the brunt of the impact. The iron bars close with an ominous click, no doubt from the many charms placed. Surely they are not dumb enough to not notice a more than a few charms missing?

Well, dumb.

They have no idea as to the extent of my skills and they do not realize that the man who bruised my ribs will not have ribs inside him in a few months. Or a few days.

Any ribs. They will be sticking out neatly out of his chest, for I do not consider myself a messy killer. A neat, ceremonious one, maybe. I might even leave a conjured flower woven into those ribs as a thank you for taking care of me. As I might have mentioned before, I can be merciful too.

Only when I am finally alone in my cell do I let a full smirk stretch my lips, utterly content with my work of the day as I wordlessly-wandlessly- heal my ribs. They will not be sending a nurse to heal my wounds and I do not expect them to. The knock-up certainly wasn't sanctioned by the Ministry but there is no doubt it will be approved of and the guards commended on a job well done.

But this will be the last I will think-or see- of my captivity for days.

Maybe months. Maybe years.

One can hope.

And he did have a promise to fulfil.

* * *

_Hermione Jean Granger._

_Her blood ran cold._

_She was cornered on the edge of a hundred-foot cliff overlooking the sea as the salt wind buffeted her._

_Under her feet, the weather had slicked the rocks, making her perch on the cliff side all the more perilous._

_Behind her, the sea stretched to the horizon. _

_In front of her, hundreds of snakes slowly slithered forward, pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight._

"_Stay back!" she screamed, choking on a sob._

_They halted their steady advance and stopped about ten feet away._

"_These cliffs are unstable. It's not safe." Her inner voice cautioned._

"_Safe?" she echoed miserably. "I don't know what that word means anymore."_

_At that moment, a loud crack split the air._

_She started to rush forward, but was too late. Before the shriek even left her lips, she fell-fell as the ledge crumbled under her weight._

She jolted upright.

Her heart slammed as the seconds dripped like the rain off the tip of her nose had.

She could still vividly see –in 'her' eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, in that second of intense panic- that a hundred feet below, the sea yawned, waiting to swallow her.

This nightmare used to replay with startling regularity, almost every other night. In those early mornings and unexpected moments of dread and mind numbing fear, questions arose.

Not from her mind, the instigator of all things such, but her reflection. The reflection she unconsciously confessed everything to. The reflection, which listened, and never interrupted. Questions that had been considered but never given thought to.

"The renowned and the obscure, travel alike the road that leads to the grave. Can it be a calamity which is common to you with everything that lives on Earth? Why, then, must you do what you are doing today? What if another gets to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, accomplishes the task before you do? "

The days were filled with introspection and the nights with consternation, as she waited for her reflection to cast more questions on her already wavering self. She questioned all she had believed to be the foundation stone of life- life that she had, until then, lived. Slowly, over a period of time, as she sat with her hands around her folded knees, rocking gently on her bed almost every morning, listening vaguely to her reflection, a thought made its way into her mind-

Paths leading to the same road are different.

And she thought,

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference. **(Robert Frost, 'The Road Not Taken')**

It was only her reflection that spoke, for she never uttered a word during their conversations. It knew—knew all that she thought, all that she felt. It was then that she also realized, with breath taking clarity, what, as she grew up to be the person she is, her heart had been trying to tell her all along.

Her reflection seemed smug that morning. It was a familiar expression with which she reacquainted her with that day. It said- I know that you know, but I know it better than you do.

"Life, a bed of thorn and roses alike is not easy but theoretically, simple. There are layers, on top of layers, inside the other layers and shades and shades of grey."

Then, as the days went on, she found her dream progressing further, to the realm, where, at least in her mind, hope existed. Because, then-

_Her hand desperately hung on to a rock on the ledge. The jagged edges cut into her palm as she held on, drawing on her reserves of strength._

The full fledged upheaval in her life became bearable, now that she had put the problem into its perspective, with the help of her unhelpful reflection.

She now waited for the mornings; for she believed she had slayed the demons in her head. And eventually,-

_With a heave of furious strength, still frozen to the bone, she gained the ledge and clambered onto the wet, hopefully solid earth._

_A lone snake glided across and stared measuringly at her shivering self. _

_Wearily, she __searched her heart to find out if there was any fight left in her._

Her reflection found a question that remained, "How do you now redefine yourself?"

She now knew how to answer.

There are three things extremely hard: steel, diamonds, and to know oneself. Knowing herself was the most difficult task of all.

Finally, one fine day-

_The snake considered her for a while and as though convinced, slithered into the deep woods, now faintly visible in the fog as the rays of sunshine loomed on the horizon. She followed, for she had now found her path. _

To her, the snakes had represented fears of the unexplored. Something she had conquered. Something she had her reflection to thank for.

_She whispered to the wind, _

_Hakuna Matata._

It took her a horrid nightmare and sleep worth several weeks but she knew now with absolute certainty that she was the source of her strength, so she can face the world without fear.

This realization was worth more than anything in the world.

_She had known happiness before but now having glimpsed the worst alternative, she realized she was perfectly content._

She has never had that _dream _again. Nor has she seen her reflection.

Sometimes, she wishes she never does again.

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**A/N: Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

Bed-time story-time...

A mother and her two children snuggled under the colourful duvet in the children's room, full with splashes of ink, so full of life in itself as the mother began to look through the books, searching for one to read, but she knew what story she would eventually tell. Her children asked for the same story every night. Never another.

Perhaps they felt a kinship, an unconscious relation to the story- a story so similar to their own. Unknown to them.

"Please mum, I wanna hear the peacock and chimpanzee story." came a muffled voice from under the covers, from the 3-year old boy with blue eyes, wearing starry pyjamas as his year old sister, with the same eyes and wearing matching pyjamas, nodded, going along with whatever her brother had to say.

The woman, in her dark nightgown, beautiful but gaunt, content but sad, was a mass of contradictions. She sighed and began, as she began every night,

"Once upon a time...

_A peacock was strutting along the road when it decided it would take a clean, tidy and presentable animal with it to show its secret place. _

_The animals had been trying to find it for years but they failed every time, for the place was well-hidden and the peacock was too proud to share the tit-bit with anyone._

_So the peacock considered the animals that came in hopes of seeing the secret hide-out. _

_First was a pig, looking expectantly and hoping it would be chosen. As soon as it went near, the peacock suddenly swept back and sneered, "Don't you clean yourself? I can smell your stink from a mile away. There's no way I'm taking you with me."_

_The pig was disheartened by the peacock's words and it sat down to wait to see who would be picked._

_Second was a hippopotamus, dragging itself along to give it a shot. When it finally got there, the peacock turned its head away and said, "Mud-baths do not constitute baths. And I do not want a muddy animal like you to dirty my secret area."_

_The hippopotamus considered its skin, which was covered in mud, frowned and settled its huge belly on the ground to watch the proceedings._

_Third was a chimpanzee, nodding and acknowledging all the animals present before taking its place. It did not even acknowledge the peacock and was occupied with cleaning its hair, picking lice. The peacock decided such an animal was the perfect choice. It went nearer to the chimpanzee and said, "Hey, you're selected to see my place. I've never seen an animal so immaculate and self-groomed like me."_

_The chimpanzee slowly looked up and answered, "I know, peacock, that you have no secret. You are fooling all the animals and taking them for granted. I'm not paying you any attention because you do not deserve it. Self-grooming is not just about remaining neat and clean. It is about conducting yourself appropriately and moving in a social circle with grace and integrity. Did you even look at all the animals that showed up just because you made an announcement? You didn't. How do you imagine they feel? They feel neglected and unimportant. You are clearly not self-groomed, peacock."_

_With that, the chimpanzee gathered the other animals and took them all to his house to feed them fruits from the best tree._

_There were murmurs of assent all around as an animal noted, "The best groomed animal is the chimpanzee and it deserves our respect!"_

_Nevertheless, there was a baffling end to this situation, for the peacock and the chimpanzee turned out to be civil though no one knows how. And everyone wondered so._

_And it turned out the peacock was not lying about a secret place. It did have one._

_Neither of them would volunteer the story of their civility, no matter the persuasion or tactics employed. Granted that they were used on the chimpanzee and the peacock was never asked, for its reaction could never be guessed and no one wanted to belittle themselves._

_And the peacock, much to the surprise of all, now a little brought down from its perch of greatness- though it would take years for it to be nice to everybody- was polite, and downright civil with the chimpanzee, quite out of tune with its original and usual self, and took all the animals to its secret place. _

_The secret place was a nice alcove in the forest, surrounded by trees, their shade cooling the land from the sweltering heat of the sun, their fruits ripe and fresh, fleshier than any others in the jungle._

_The peacock, initially reluctant to share, was convinced by the chimpanzee, unknown by all but much to their delight. They praised the fruit and offered their own delicacies to the peacock, who managed to accept them all without an insult, thought they seemed to be on the tip of its tongue._

_Perhaps it had something to do with the chimpanzee's foot pressed warningly over the peacock's leg, as it received the presents. Though it was only noticed by the chimpanzee's wife, who was looking at its husband from time to time, unable to decide whether its husband was crazy mad or just amazingly charming._

_Oh yes, the chimpanzee had a wife. And a son. That no one knew about._

_Despite the number of friends the chimpanzee had, it had more than enough enemies, so its personal life was secret and no one knew about them._

_The peacock adored the son and pampered it senseless. cooed, did silly things and made faces, all for a kid. That certainly warmed up the wife and when she found out its husband was not just civil, but friends with the peacock, the two got on smashingly, much to the delight of the chimpanzee, who was relieved to not defend its unusual friend in marital fights, already at the height of it due to the secrecy._

_It was after such a fight and on a world-saving campaign of the chimpanzee that it defeated most of its enemies and was gravely injured, going into a coma, reducing the wife and surprisingly, the peacock to heart-wrenching tears. The peacock's best and only friend, the wife's only husband and the kid's only father was almost lost to them. Their only consolation was that they had each other. _

_Soon, they heard that the chimpanzee could be cured by erasing his memories of them, if only for a little while._

_They conferred and decided that it was better for the chimpanzee to forget them and live, than to remember them and die. So the peacock, the wife and the son, and the chimpanzee, lying lifeless went to find one who could erase memories for a short while. No one was told, for they slunk away in the middle of the night. Imagine the worry of the animals to find their saviour missing!_

_The four travellers walked and trudged, on paths untraveled and places undiscovered, for the centre of their hearts and their universe, the chimpanzee. The wife now found herself pregnant, and the child could take no more and so they settled in the next establishment they found. They let the peacock go on the condition that it would return to them as early as possible and they agreed it would be a few months. At most, a year._

_So concluded, the peacock was to go forward, taking the chimpanzee along. They finally found one to do what they must and the peacock was told to stay away for a while, and that the chimpanzee would be taken back to the forest it originally was in. The inhabitants were told to not remind it of its life and that it would come back by itself._

_The peacock, now going back to retrieve the wife and kid, was captured by the rest of the chimpanzee's enemies and sentenced to lifetime imprisonment. And since the chimpanzee lost its memory, it did not care for the peacock. And the peacock, caring more for its friend than its own well-being, a far cry from what it had once been, did not say a word._

_More than two years passed._

_The wife and two kids, a son and a daughter, lay in wait. Knowing the news but unable to travel alone._

_Waiting for either the peacock or chimpanzee to come and take them home. _

_To claim them._

_For the wife believed. She taught her children to believe._

_In hope. And promises._

The mother tucked her children comfortably into the bed, pulled the covers up to their chins and quietly left the room, closing the door. No sooner had she closed the door did she break down into a quivering mass of sobs, sliding down against the door and leaning her head against it, crying herself to sleep.

Crying herself to sleep as she did every night, against the door of her children's room, telling herself to believe.

To believe in hope. And promises taken. Given. Held.

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**A/N: I know this a short chapter but I wanted to make sure I update every Monday and let you know that I definitely will continue to do so. Even if the chapter is shorter, I will make sure you will have something to think about. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

It was never going to be an ordinary day.

Neville Longbottom was one the most celebrated herbologists and when he accepted the offer to be a professor at Hogwarts, there was no end to the joy that erupted in the halls of Hogwarts, among students and teachers alike. But Neville was coming back, not as people believed, to give back to Hogwarts what it had given him, but to find out more about that missing part of him he suspected he had.

You see, missing.

Missing.

He was unaccounted for during those times, none of his friends or acquaintances could attest to knowing his location during those times. In fact, they claimed that he himself had assured them of his safety when he went to visit his 'friends'. Friends no one knew about but heard of. Friends he couldn't bring himself to remember, no matter how hard he tried to, how much he tried to. He promised himself this was going to be his last attempt at finding that elusive part of himself. Perhaps he needed a little stimulation. A niggling feeling in the back of his head told him whatever it was had started at Hogwarts.

The Hogwarts term would start on September 1st and he had nearly a month to brace himself for what he felt would be one of the biggest revelations of his life.

He was currently walking along a path to the river, contemplating and assessing his current situation. He skipped over the stones and stepped over fallen trees littered along the way. He had no idea where to start searching for the truth, if there was something such as that.

Truth.

Did exist or was he having a post war disorder that caused him to have highly imaginative delusions? No answer for the unanswerable.

Lost in his thoughts, Neville accidentally bumped into a tree and then chastised himself for reverting to his clumsy behaviour, for which he was known for in his early years. Again, he did not know what had brought about this change and all his friends had commented on his abrupt change into maturity during their last year at Hogwarts. The Golden Trio had expressed the greatest surprise at his transformation, having seen the full extent of it all at once, and not as an evolved trait as the others had noticed.

Supposedly and not surprisingly, considering most of what he wanted to know was out of reach, he had never been known to reveal much regarding his change in demeanour, except that it was due to a secret friend, and not of the female version.

This new revelation he had a few weeks ago from Ginny's monologues which she had volunteered to help him trigger his memories has jolted him, more so than the fact that he had lost a part of his memories. He had had a best friend he could not remember and he could not bear that he had forgotten such an important person, somebody who had brought about a revolutionary change in his otherwise cowardly life. Just the idea that the friend-no, best friend- had slipped away or left behind, possibly because of his foolhardy attitude was grating on his nerves. They were stretched to their limit and he was having trouble finding the elusive sleep at night.

It was almost as if the end was near. The feeling of impending doom, dread for the unknown was mixed with the anticipation of unearthing his past.

And the intuitive feeling in his the corner of his heart and head wasn't going away.

The possibility of offering more than anything just to make sure he did not unwittingly betray such a friendship was rising to the forefront in his brain. He was pretty sure it was going to be the next step he was going to undertake in the new task he had assigned himself.

To rediscover . Himself.

And then his vision blurred. Just before he peered into a pair of clear, grey eyes.

Grey eyes with a rare but familiar twinkle visible in them, with a faintly bored and disinterested expression, as though daring him to figure out his seemingly complex thought processes.

As he had done before. But where did that thought come from?

His last thought was why such a thing was familiar to him and he gave a sound of surprise before he fell bonelessly to the rocky earth, bracing for the hit to the earth, but he was lifted effortlessly from the ground by two sets of hands. He could not move himself to notice the second man, for the first had captured his attention. He had known this man from before, hadn't he? Why couldn't he recognise him then?

A flash of memory hit him.

One with the man and him guffawing over a joke. Neville had stared at the man, and made an observation with a teasing smile. Laughing.

"I didn't know you would lower yourself to do such a thing as guffaw. It might be beneath you to do so, wouldn't it, my lord?"

The colour had leached out of the man's face, his face regaining his usual scowl as the man got up and turned to leave with long, unhurried movements. Neville had tried to stop him by trying to apologise but the man's raised hand had stopped him, his power very much evident in his movements.

Dangerous was the first thought that came to mind as he looked at his memory's version of the man.

The man had halted at the door, and without turning, he murmured, "You have done a fine job of belittling our evening, Longbottom, and I no longer have anything to say this evening. I have gone out of my way to sway myself from the path of one such as I. Because of the value I place on our friendship and the loyalty I owe you. Please consider that when we meet again. And do restrain yourself from laughter on such a topic at my expense. I have never minded the rest of you ill-motivated jokes, but this is a line I pray you will not cross. Until next week then. Adieu."

And the man had left, no sound breaking the taut silence Neville was sunk in as the door was shut silently with deadly intent, the man still clearly incensed, as was the way of the man. Restrained, but no less horrifying.

He had noticed because the man had been his best friend and confidant for a year. In a year of new friendships and traitorous betrayals.

Neville gasped as the man's face cleared in his mind and there was no doubt as to who the man was. He uttered the man's name as the blackness consumed him, dragging him deeper into unconsciousness.

"Draco Malfoy."

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**A/N: This is longer than the last chapter but I could not write anymore or it would spoil the suspense. Since I posted a day late due to irritating internet problems, I will post a bonus chapter in the middle of the week for my tardiness. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**

**Colubrina:** Thanks...I hope you continue reading!

**Stormyshade: **Thank you so much for leaving such beautiful reviews on both the chapters! But you're wrong when you think the second chapter is about Hermione... The secret will eventually be revealed. Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

He had never had a friend before.

Blaise Zabini wasn't his friend in any sense of the word.

Blaise Zabini was his brother.

They aimed to manipulate and lie to each other, if only for each other's good. They were quite similar to each other. So similar and well-tuned with each other that bluffing was a distant memory. They knew the other's quirks as well as their own. Perhaps better. They still skirted around important topics, letting their opinion go across subtly, understated currents forever flowing across them, the thin strands, crackling through the air, seemingly binding them to each other, as though daring them to suffer its jolting displeasure by even entertaining the thought of being apart.

But with his friend, it was not so. Each response was not carefully thought out, not orchestrated to evoke a certain response. It was natural and he was surprised by his own self, for he had never tried to find himself before. Every moment managed to keep him on his toes, keeping him scrambling to catch up, for perhaps the first time in his otherwise unfortunate, but rather monetarily fortunate life.

He had been so many other people that he had forgotten his own self.

Not anymore.

He would now be himself, proud to lead himself and his family name in a new direction, vastly different from their previous course.

And this had been the first step forward.

* * *

They carried the unconscious body into the bright room, light streaming in through the French windows, glinting off the edges of the fragile glass and intricate marble pieces set on the fireplace with Draco holding their hostage's legs and Blaise holding his head. They manoeuvred themselves to align themselves with the bed, taking care not to harm their hostage.

They then deposited their burden on a four poster bed, carved pieces adorning its structure, its price invaluable. But the men did not pay such a thing any heed, for it was as normal to them as anything else. It was a result of the opulence they had grown up in. A result of their unorthodox upbringing, filled to the brim with the harshness of life and its devastating effects. So immense was its impact on their life that they never envisioned a future apart from what had been mapped out before they had even been born.

Shaking out the intensity of their thoughts, they stepped back from the bed and moved to the plush armchairs in front of the fireplace.

Before they could sink into the leather chairs, placed artfully so they would have a good view of the bed, reminding them of the man they had obtained, Draco turned to look at their captive for the moment. Blaise gathered Draco into an embrace as he swayed unsteadily on his feet at his first full glimpse of Neville, the man they had carried in. Unshed tears and unexpressed words between them remained as unsaid as the camaderie they shared, as Draco regained his control over his senses, the loss of which was an absolute rarity.

The two brothers- brothers in everything but blood- settled themselves and now held glasses of wine, unobtrusively placed in their hands by the house-elves.

The silence permeated the room, saying more than words could and revealing more than answers would. A single question stayed out of reach.

One word from Blaise Zabini broke the eerie silence of the afternoon laze.

"How?"

Draco was a picture of elegance and resigned boredom as pulled out a silvery ball out of his temple and levitated it to beside Blaise as a sip was being taken. No sooner did Blaise take a sip and place his glass on the table, conjured by a lazy flick of his arm, did the silvery ball plunge into his head, passing clean inside, transporting him into a memory. It was rather like a pensieve, except he couldn't move from the place he'd been delegated to. Blaise just about adjusted his eyes to the dark when he noticed a shadow move across the pathway.

_Draco Malfoy._

_He was wreathed in shadows and pure danger seemed to radiate from his very form. His harsh profile, accentuated in the black of the night, concealed from the sight of the guards, moved relentlessly through the corridor, pausing only to make sure a guard went down._

_To hell._

_He did not seem to care consciously about stealth, for it was his very definition. Darkness seemed to accept him as its master, for it followed him through the pathways and down the staircases. The stoic stillness of the air only shattered when he finally stepped out of the dilapidated prison, causing the metal rungs of the small gate, covered in rust and millions of cobwebs, no doubt from the many years of deliberate negligence, ring with the bells of freedom. Not freedom from prison, but confinement, for it was no more than that to him. He could have escaped a lot sooner and it was in urgency that he be out as soon as possible, but he had certain deadlines to fulfil, deals to honour. His brand of honour might be unconventional but no less significant or important than any other._

_As he walked away from the dilapidated prison house, he didn't look back._

_Not once._

_Because he never looked back. Ever._

Blaise was pulled out of it abruptly, and found himself back in his cushioned chair, his hand, supported by the armrest, with his head held in his hand, bent over.

That was when the conversation began. The conversation of a few, but one in a while.

It was Draco who started it. "Do you know what pain is? Something you feel when you are hurt? A human feeling one suffers when physically afflicted? That, my friend, is where you'd be wrong. Pain is nothing more than mental reactions, something our minds make us feel as a defensive mechanism. Ways to recognize something is harmful to our bodies and prompt us to cease and desist! "

Blaise had a heated argument to make. "If this is the case, then how can we suffer pain on a mental and emotional level? Be cast into a train of thought, exposed to a certain stimulus that causes our bodies to tire, wither and ache as if shards of glass were pushed deep into our skin?"

"Does that not seem irrational? How can thoughts and emotions, sadness, depression, anger and even love itself, cause us very real pain? Its madness isn't it?" Draco's smile was smug now, tinged with a taste of satisfaction.

Blaise caught that look and shared one of his own. Of amusement. "Perhaps that is the answer: madness. We, as creatures of thought, emotions and rationality, are all very much mad. We, as human beings, are irrational and thus we feel such things."

But Draco had a question left. "But is that such a bad thing? Is it wrong to be irrational?"

It was their destiny, they had thought once. Never their destruction.

Until Neville Longbottom.

* * *

**A/N: Monday's here again! I will post another soon...You know, the one pending from last week, the bonus one? I'm working on it, promise. But I'll never miss the Mondays. Promise, like I said! Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**

**Stormyshade: **Thank you again for leaving such a wonderful review! This will probably not answer a lot of questions, but will heighten the suspense. Keep reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

"You did say you had Asphodel and Moly in your room, but I never got around to believing you. I see you were right."

Neville Longbottom sat up in bed, swathed in blankets, looking over at the two men, elegantly sprawled over the armchairs, empty wine glasses on the conjured table, looking every bit the wealthy nobility they proclaimed to be.

"Of course I was right—You're awake." The statement came out more a question than a statement, asking more than the words meant.

Neville regarded the blond man with a cocked head and narrowed eyes for a few minutes, the awkward silence stretching between them.

"So I am." He said finally.

Draco Malfoy snorted and settled back into the plush armchair, moving his head around a few times to get rid of the crick in his neck. "So you are."

"I can understand the Moly because it's used as an Antidote for Dark curses and I'm fairly sure you have been in constant contact with those a while but why the Asphodel? Lilies would have been a better aesthetic choice, don't you think?"

"The ancient Greeks associated the Asphodel with the death and the underworld, believing there was a meadow of Asphodel in Elysian Fields, and considered it sacred to Persephone, goddess of the spring and queen of the underworld."

"You sound like Hermione, stating facts off the top of your head. A lean ray of hope in the darkness of your life?"

A wry smile quirked at the corner of Malfoy's lips. Comparing him to Granger indeed. Neville hadn't finished though.

"Asphodel was also once believed to be a favourite food of the dead, and so was commonly planted near graves. Your favourite food, I take it?"

Malfoy barked a laugh, filled more with cynicism than humour and smirked at his hostage, who, in his opinion, had more courage than good sense, riling up his abductor than being afraid.

"Not mine, Longbottom. But the people I deal with? Hell yes. They're usually willing to eat even Wolfsbane when I'm done with them. Are you going to be one of them?"

Neville Longbottom was one of those surprises you don't want in your life, but get anyway, Draco thought as Neville started to laugh, initially muffling them with his hand, eventually guffawing loudly, pointing his finger at Draco Malfoy every few seconds as though to remember why he was laughing.

Blaise Zabini blinked his way to consciousness, wand immediately clasped in hand, woken up by the sound of laughter, a rare enough occurrence that he had forgotten what it sounded like and looked over at the men, now engaged in a staring contest. Neville was sizing up Draco Malfoy as though he was contemplating how to escape this unexpected kidnap attempt, and then released a drawn-out sigh.

"Longbottom, you do realize, and I assume you remember enough to know we're not enemies since you're not running out of here screaming, that Draco here", the Italian gesturing towards Malfoy, "is more than capable of fighting- and winning- against multiple wizards, and you can surely deduce he can definitely take on a man without a wand, or clothes." He finished with a smirk and tucked his wand back into his pocket, as Neville hurriedly lifted the blankets, peeked under to check if he was unclothed and looked back up at the two men, mouth agape.

Smirk intensifying at Neville's obvious surprise, Zabini continued, "And even if you had clothes and a wand, and I helped you in the foolhardy escape plan that you're probably contemplating, we would still be here, with him winning against the both of us, without him getting up from that armchair or lifting his wand."

"I gathered that myself, but thank you for the gentle reminder Blaise. Can I have my clothes now?" he asked, looking at Malfoy for the last bit, finding him in the exact same position he was in earlier, stoic expression intact, but an eyebrow raised slowly in response to his question. He also noted Zabini hadn't reacted to being called by his first name, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Neville suddenly swirled his head back to Zabini, an astonished expression filling his face, and asked, "Wait, did you say without lifting his wand?"

Zabini rose from the armchair and moved around, stretching his muscles, since they were cramped from the awkward sleeping position and left Malfoy to answer their hostage's questions. Casting wary eyes at his abductors, Neville waited to see if they would say anything, lead settling in his gut, knowing the answer, yet fearful to hear it aloud.

Malfoy tilted his head slightly, as though considering what to say, and moved to get up, pulling out his wand and waving it around twice, murmuring an incantation under his breath.

"Your clothes, Longbottom. You do remember I was speaking about the people I usually deal with. And I think you know the extent of my wand-less magic, having witnessed it first-hand."

Neville pushed the blankets off himself, relieved to find himself clothed again and hurriedly jumped out of bed, as if he suspected he would be unclothed again if he stayed in bed and then his astonished expression changed abruptly to a puzzled one as he questioned Malfoy, "I did? I mean, I have? Watched you perform wand-less magic, I mean?"

Blaise whipped around so fast his feet tangled with his robe and he slipped on it, crashing to the floor face first, his nose hitting the ground with a crack, the sound resounding in the now silent room. Neville was the first to rush forward, helping Blaise rise.

Blaise looked at Neville alarmingly. "You don't remember? I thought- I thought you must have remembered, with the way you're speaking to us and all that. Well, do you even remember anything at all?"

Ignoring Blaise's question for the moment and turning around to face Malfoy, eyes flashing, Neville snapped.

"I don't suppose you'd have the decency to help even your friend when he's fallen down."

Draco clenched his fists around the bed post, no outward signs of anger as he struggled to maintain control lest he unharness any energy by mistake as he noticed Blaise mutter an Episkey at his nose, spare a glance at the creaking post, straining not to shatter at the force of Draco's hold and steer Longbottom out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind them, a loud crash sounded inside.

"I wonder about his magical power if he can do that much damage physically with one hand." Neville sounded more curious than afraid though.

"Another bed gone." Blaise dramatically sighed as Neville turned to go back into the room."Let him be. Your Gryffindor qualities are of no help here. He's far gone. Far gone. He can come back if he wishes to."

Blaise led a now furious Neville down the hallway, away from the crashes sounding from the room, with increasing intensity. "But only if he wishes to, eh? Is it not your responsibility to help your friend, Blaise? Is it not for you to make him come back? For the people who care about him? Or is it one of your principles in life to not be there for a friend in need? I'd wondered about Draco inside that room and now about you too."

Blaise snorted. "You don't hold back, do you? You've expressed more variety of feeling in this hour than the both of us in a few years.

"You haven't answered my questions." Neville was irate now.

Blaise sighed again, for what felt like the thousandth time that day and stopped in the middle of the corridor to turn and look at Neville. " We're not like you, Neville. All touchy-feely and hearts on our sleeves. Whatever we do, we do subtly. He might not have moved forward to help me rise, but that was because I have too much pride to take his hand to lift myself up. And he'd cast a cushioning charm while I was falling, so my body didn't feel the impact."

Neville was not amused though. "I suppose that's why you broke your nose then. Accomplished cushioning charm, that."

Feeling a smile move onto his lips, Blaise felt himself reacting to humour after a long time. "I moved my face at the last moment. If I had fallen the way I was supposed to..."

"Alright then. Let's presume Malfoy is a great friend, all flowers and sunshine. What about you then? Why did you leave him alone inside?"

Looking away, Blaise started to move forward again, leaving Neville to follow. Neville had decided Blaise had ignored his question when the man stopped at a door, an antique invaluable, carvings carefully done, and pushed open the door carelessly to bade Neville to enter.

Following a gaping Neville into the dining room, Blaise locked the door of the cavernous room, with a high ceiling decorated with chandeliers, walls covered with old tapestries and a long table set in the very centre of the room, seemingly filling it, adapting to its size. Three places were set on the table, glasses filled with wine, delicious aroma drifting to the far end of the room.

"Draco is not – not himself in such rages, usually murderous and unwilling. Nor does he recognise people in such a state." Raising the sleeve of his right hand, Blaise showed Neville the deep gash on his arm, as they moved to take the places at the table. Neville must have seen thousands of wounds through the war but the red skin, surrounded by smaller cuts made him gasp at the depth of the wound and Blaise lowered the sleeve gently over it. "Well, after that, I decided I would be of much more help after than during."

Neville and Blaise sat opposite each other at the end of the table, leaving the chair at the head by unspoken consent. They both unconsciously realized that chair wasn't for them to occupy and that was that.

"Ah well. I suppose it's better we don't help him now then. What's for breakfast? Or is it lunchtime already?"

It seemed to be a day of surprises for Blaise, with him being constantly amazed by Neville. "It's almost lunchtime. You're being terrible inconsistent with yourself and extremely comfortable here for my comfort. What's going on?"

"Well, you see Blaise, you two are extremely comfortable", Neville said, quoting in the air with his fingers, "with me too, for my comfort. I assume there is something I'm unaware of that I've seemingly forgotten. I won't know until I remember, which hasn't happened for so long that it might not happen anyway, and I was going to Hogwarts to remember, and I can't do that now since you've gotten me here. Where is here anyway? And the other option is for you to tell me. You won't, because you don't wear your hearts on your sleeve. Have I gotten anything wrong?" Neville gestured to Blaise with a accusing glance, making him wince.

"All credit to you. I haven't spoken so much in so long." At Neville's clearly irritated glance, he added, "Well, we aren't much of conversationalists. You can't blame us. We think being around us might spike your memory, which is why we brought you here. We didn't think you'd come if we asked." Blaise responded, more out of desperation at Neville's increasing irritation. Then, he added, "By the way, here is Malfoy Manor."

"Answer a question for me, Blaise, if you will. Honest is the only thing I ask you to be. Truth if you can, or nothing at all."

Blaise considered Neville for a few minutes, then reluctantly muttered. "I'll – I'll try."

"That's all I ask." Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Neville asked, "Is Draco is the best friend I've forgotten? Is he the one I've betrayed?" When he opened his eyes to look into Blaise's, there was so much conflict in his eyes, so much hurt and pain at even the slightest suggestion that he might have done wrong to someone he considered his own.

"Yes. No."

Neville blew air out with a huff and questioned again. "Yes. Or no?"

"He wasn't the one you betrayed." Blaise looked away.

Neville pressed on. "But I did betray someone?"

Supposedly finding the maze on the wall tapestry interesting, Blaise moved towards the wall to stare unseeingly at it as he answered. "Perhaps not in the actual – real sense of the word, but..."

Swallowing the lump in his throat and tapping his feet to fight his tumultuous emotions, Neville asked one last question. "And was – is Draco my best friend?"

Blaise looked down at his feet and fought the impulse to shuffle them as he battled his own bottled feelings.

"Yes. And so am – was I."

* * *

**A/N: I know I haven't been able to update in a few months and I'm very sorry. I'm going to try and update often from now on but I'm not quite sure if I can manage it. I hope you'll still continue to read the story. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**

**Stormyshade: **Thank you for leaving a review! You'll have to excuse me for not updating so often but I hope you keep reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

Freshly mowed grass.  
The smell of wet mud.  
The grass softened under her as Hermione Granger padded across the meadow across her little cottage, luxuriating in the aloneness. Aloneness - not loneliness - that the place gave her, she told herself.

Breathing in the air, its coldness threatening to seep through her skin, her thoughts seemed to flow out of her, forming a whirlpool of memories. People and places wove together in front of her eyes, creatures dove between her feet, prancing around and she was lost. Lost in the world of her own, overflowing with experiences, tempting her to remember all the things lost once, all those found again and those she'd yet to find.

Yet to know.

* * *

"Give me your hand."

"My hand?"

Standing in front of her with his arm extended, an unimpressed expression on his face, Draco Malfoy replied, "Yes, your hand. You know, the one that has five fingers, a palm and you are supposed to be able to hold things with it. Like a wand, a cup or another hand? That hand."

A cold expression took a firm place on Hermione Granger's face and her hand tightened on her wand, unwaveringly held in the direction of the two men, both looking extremely comfortable in their surroundings, extremely confident despite the fact that they did not hold their wands in hand. "I'm aware of what a hand is, Malfoy. What I am unaware of, however, is why you would want to hold mine, considering you're a fugitive who escaped from a high security prison only a few days ago and I should be reporting you. Considering I despise you. Tell me why I shouldn't do what I'm supposed to do again." She sneered then and put in a last word. "Considering I'm a mudblood."

Malfoy twirled his wand in his hand as grimaces twisted their faces and Blaise answered Hermione. "He doesn't care about stuff like that anymore. Neither do I. We've certainly grown up, don't you think? And your friend Neville..."

Hermione's head jerked forward and she glared, curses on the tip of her tongue.

Malfoy tsked as he said," Well, that certainly got her attention."

"Both of you better start talking or I'll show you my skills with a wand firsthand."

Blaise was almost gleeful as he replied to her blatant threat. "Well, you might have noticed he's been a little off these days, and certainly has gone over the bend. And you, of course, being smart and all, have noticed that he's missing, considering he hasn't contacted your team of do-gooders in a while."

"For one, he wanted to be alone a few days, so we let him be. Insinuating a non-existing problem will only increase your misery when I finally get to it. And he is not over the bend. He is merely recovering from his little problem."

Malfoy beat Blaise to the reply. "I've had enough of your wordplay, if you will. As for Longbottom's problem, you and I and everyone else is fairly clear that he might as well lose his mind if he does not regain his memories fast. As for our interest in it, Granger, I assure you it is in good spirit. My word may not count for much, but it is all I can give you at this point. Now, if you will take my hand, I will apparate us to Neville's location."

Hermione's expression was deeply skeptical as she considered the Slytherins' words. She opened her mouth to question them further when Draco, tired from arguing with the infuriating woman, muttered,"Bugger it all!" and reached for her wrist.

No sooner did he grab hold of her wrist than his eyes widened and he quickly glanced at Zabini in panic, who in turn panicked. Definitely hasn't been our couple of days, thought Blaise as he grabbed hold of Draco's wrist, careful not to touch Hermione's he apparated the three of them to Malfoy Manor.

They landed in the living room, Malfoy's hand fixed on Hermione's, his grip on reality slackening and his eyes rolling back in his head as he started to fall to the ground, Blaise catching him before he did so.

I seem to be handling way too many unconscious people these days, thought Blaise as he levitated Malfoy's body up onto the couch and Neville entered the room.

"Neville! Are you safe? Are you okay? Have they done anything to you?" Hermione's concerned voice cut through the awkward silence that had fallen through the room as Blaise was arranging Malfoy's body carefully on the couch.

"I'm fine, Hermione. They're-," started Neville as his gaze went to the man on the couch, and his jaw dropped. "I thought he was invincible."

Draco's eyes flickered for a moment and he struggled to keep them open, looking the men, trying to point at the woman, failing dismally at the action and wheezing out, " It's her. "

Blaise's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out Malfoy's words. It was clear that he understood when his face cleared and he stared incredulously between Draco and Hermione, catching Neville's eye in the process, who looked just as flabbergasted.

"I remember you're a ...Oh!" Neville was becoming increasingly distraught as he regained a little more of his memory.

Hermione, however, was entirely out of her depth.

"I remembered. I remembered.", shrieked Neville, more worried than relieved now, as he felt a little more of his memory come back.

"What on Earth in the the name of Merlin's whatever is happening here?" Hermione was not about to take no for an answer.

"Will anyone pay attention to the unconscious man please?"

* * *

**A/N: I know I haven't been able to update in a few months, again, and I'm very sorry for it. Like I said before, I'm not quite sure if I can manage to update very often, but I will when I can. I hope you'll all still continue to read the story. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**

**LadyRana: **Thanks for leaving a review. It certainly is mysterious, isn't it? Do continue to read!

**hellokittyaniya: **I'm very glad you love the story and think it's good work. The plot has just begun to thicken and there is a lot on the way! Stay tuned...

**Stormyshade: **Thank you for leaving a review again and for your interest in the story! You happen to be my story's most regular reviewer and I look forward to your review every time I put up a chapter. I've always loved Blaise's character, a dark Malfoy and also a strong Neville. And Dramione, obviously! This story is a mix of all my favourite things in the HP fandom.

There are more of my favourite characters who are going to show up, and I don't want to give a spoiler. But I can't resist myself, so I will give you one name.

Rita Skeeter. Look out! Or you might find yourself splashed across the Daily Prophet...

Reader or Reviewer?

Or both?

Hopefully.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

* * *

He remembered the feel of her hand in his, soft as silk, yet with the calluses of a working woman, one who would never hesitate to lend a hand. A hard-working woman, he surmised, as he floated near the sea of dreams suspended in front of him, her face evading him as he tried to sort through them all in vain.

"Draco, wake up mate!" Blaise's voice pierced through his jumbled thought processes and cleared his head as he struggled to regain his senses.

"Shush Zabini. Oh come on Malfoy. You cannot kidnap me, then faint on me, only to have me treat you. Especially considering neither your duffer of a friend nor Neville, who is supposed to be my friend, refuses to tell what all this is about or what your problem is. Neville, back me up!" She glared at Neville, who tried to tell her that telling her would mean a breach of confidence. Draco Malfoy thought he almost recognised the voice and the name floated out of reach, much to his frustration.

"A breach of confidence, huh?" Hermione shouted at Neville, furious that he would support Malfoy over her about this. She had not as much as left her wand out of reach since she had gotten here, afraid of what would happen, and Neville seemed to be unafraid around Zabini and Malfoy, even going as far as showing concern for the unconscious man, and asking her to heal him.

"Hermione," started Neville, looking apologetically at her, "I do not mean to confuse you, but they have helped me in regaining the memories I have lost, and I find myself indebted to them."

"You have no debt to us, Neville. None. It was our duty to help and we are regretful we couldn't do so sooner. The only thing we can ask for is forgiveness." It was Zabini who had spoken up, his eyes fixed unmovingly on Malfoy.

Hermione itched to ask more but she knew the benefit of patience, even if she did not exercise it often, and decide to wait. Wait to get the answers, but not to wake Malfoy.

"I am a certified and trained Healer, and I have tried all I can try for normal wizards on you, not that they have had any effect on you. You should have woken up by now Malfoy." Shaking the still-unmoving man, she continued, "I am, however, a very accomplished Healer and this has never ever happened before. Or maybe it's just your ferrety self, and nothing to do with my skill as a Healer." Her voice was almost petulant now, just almost, and more than confident of her abilities, and that was what did him in as his eyes shot open.

Her eyes were closed in exasperation as Draco said, "We couldn't have you doubting your amazing abilities now, could we?"

Opening her eyes and sniffing at him, she said, "A thank you would have sufficed."

"Thank you."

At the astonished expression of the Gryffindors, he added, "Neville started the thank-you's."

"In these few days?" asked Neville, more curious at what the he had to say, considering the two had uncovered more about him in the few days than he himself knew.

Blaise snorted. "Years is more like it."

The two Slytherins shared a wistful smile, their eyes collecting sheen at the eventuality that had just struck them.

Hermione could not make head or tail of the conversation and she was itching to question all of them, including Neville and do some research to find out what was wrong with the blond. She also wanted to have the last word, as Zabini helped Malfoy up from the couch.

"You've kidnapped two war heroes, not just one now. Our disappearances won't go unnoticed and I have no idea why I'm not hexing you to hell and back and handing you over to the Ministry. I'm curious, so you might want to keep that in mind as you hold me hostage here. You'll be killed for this, since you're supposed to be in jail anyway."

"Make yourselves at home. Ask the elves if you can't find anything you want. Yes, the elves are given wages here Granger. You can't leave the property or send any messages out of here anyway, patronus or otherwise." Blaise was factual as his features morphed into stony indifference.

Neville still looked curious. "Did you hear what she said?"

It was Draco who answered this time, features set similar to Blaise, a sneer on his lips. "We're doing to die soon anyway. A few months is perhaps as long as we have. Might as well do something to remember before we kick the bucket, eh?"

With that, they stepped out and shut the door with a quiet click, reminiscent of their restrained power, the sound echoing in the room, with two jaws dropped down at the bombshell they had just been dealt, expressions flabbergasted.

A full five minutes later, the two friends sat down on the couch, tea in hand, brought by the elves probably on their master's command, Hermione still in shock to protest against them working.

"Neville, what is happening here? I should be more afraid – no, no – more in revolt against the kidnap, except they just told us to do nothing but stay in the house. There is nothing even resembling ransom or torture, since you've been missing a few days, and have no visible violence marks on you or an expression of fear. What do they want? What is it they're after?"

Neville wiped the imaginary sweat off his brow as he answered.

"I do not know for sure myself but I will try to summarise what I do know from what they've let slip in these few days."

Hermione turned her head to look at Neville and waited impatiently for him to start.

"Okay, so what I do know is that the people I've forgotten are these two. They're the ones who helped the Light during the war. I do not remember exact deatils, but I'm sure of their involvement and the source of all that information I'm told I managed to get." Not stopping at Hermione's gasp, Neville continued, now more morose than can be, "What I also know is that I've failed them. Horribly."

Turning his head to look at Hermione, who was yet to say a word, he let out a sob. "They spent years in Azkaban because of me. Because I forgot them. Forgot them, Hermione. How could I have forgotten them? I sometimes wonder what else I have forgotten, how many more I have wronged."

Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed little circles with her thumb."I'm sure there was a reason you forgot it all Neville. Don't beat yourself up. And now that I know for sure they're the good guys," Hermione started, a playful smile on her face, "we can find a way to force them into telling us everything. I'm sure we can figure out how to push their buttons, and you might have found some already."

Neville let a faint smile grace his lips. "I'm sure. But that's not all, Hermione. You remember I remembered something when you came in carrying Malfoy in here? It's important."

"Yes, I do. What is it?"

"They're both Veelas, Hermione. Half-blooded Veelas, but Veelas nonetheless."

Hermione's brows furrowed in thought and her jaw dropped open as Neville expanded on the startling revelation.

"From what they said earlier about dying, I think we can safely deduce that they have lost hope of ever having their mates accept them. And..."

"But Neville, once their mates find out about them being the good guys, they'll surely agree to be their mates. Mates to such brave men."

"Would you, Hermione? Now that you know they are brave men, would you accept being, perhaps Malfoy's mate?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not that I am, but I might consider it. He might be a prat of the first order, but he's a honourable prat from what you've told me. I think I might take a chance if I was his mate."

"Congratulations then." Neville looked almost smug.

Hermione raised an eyebrow in question. "For what, Neville?"

"Malfoy fainted when he held your hand, if I'm not wrong. Am I, Hermione?" Neville raised both his eyebrows, urging Hermione to draw a conclusion.

Hermione eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise as she muttered, "After coming of age, Veela's are said to find their mates by touch. A Veela mate's touch will send the Veela into unconsciousness. Oh my God Neville!"

Neville lips twitched and he was struggling to hold in his smile.

"Well, looks like you got your wish. Least I can do after letting him suffer is set him up with his mate."

Hermione was shell-shocked into silence as she continued to ponder in her head. What next, she thought.

What next indeed.

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**A/N: I know I haven't updated in a few months, again. Like I said earlier, I can't update very often. I hope you'll all still continue to read the story and leave me your wonderful reviews. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter... Review please!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: J. , I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

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"I'm your mate." Hermione's tone was matter of fact, her feelings on the matter unexpressed as she stood by the door, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the blond.

Grey eyes unhurriedly rose from the papers spread over the table that Draco was perusing to look at her and his head tilted a little, as though considering her statement.

"Yes." His tone booked no argument either. Waving her in, he directed her to a chair. "Please take a seat."

A quick non-verbal spell pulled back a chair, pushing it back in slowly as she sat.

"Impressive. But I imagine you're not too enthusiastic about me being your mate, Malfoy."

His eyes were dim. "I think-" He said and paused for a few seconds to just look at her. "I think that if there is anyone less enthusiastic about this than you, it is not me."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask him to clarify but he cut her off. "Let Longbottom know that as long as he keeps his nose out of the matter, it'll remain intact and less squashed than I would rather it be." Despite the delivered threat, his tone was warm as he spoke of Neville.

"You really are telling the truth about being friends with Neville."

"Clearly."

A spark appeared in her eyes as the truth of her earlier statement hit her with full force. She had heard Neville's words but she hadn't believed yet. It did not mean she trusted Malfoy but it hit her that she could try to believe the man.

Intrigued as she was by the situation, she decided smaller questions would have to start first before Malfoy opened up.

"You were the one who supplied all that information to the Order about places, people, maps, locations, attacks, formations. It's a wonder you were never killed by an Order member."

"It was a risk I took gladly." Draco was apprehensive about the conversation they were having, though Hermione was doing most of the talking.

"So you did believe in the right thing, Malfoy. That does require a lot of courage." A teasing glint in her eye, she added, "And technically, you were a bigger spy than Snape. Did he know?"

Draco was shaking his head in disagreement as she looked at him. "You're wrong, Granger. I did not believe in the right thing. I did what Neville asked me to do, that's all. I do not believe in the Order, or your saviour, for that matter. I'm not the hero you're making me out to be, but a sinner of the worst sort and a dangerous one at that."

Looking away from her to the papers on his desk, he continued, "And no, Granger. Severus did not know, because it was better that way to keep him safe, just in case the Dark Lord ever managed to get into his head."

Narrowing her eyes at him, Hermione stated baldly, "So let me clear this up. For Neville, you betrayed Voldemort."

He flinched at her casual use of the Dark Lord's name and sneered at her, "Yes. But not just for Neville. I had my reasons, none of which involve me having sudden revelations about finding the good in myself and the people around."

Malfoy was turning out to be an engaging puzzle. "What were these reasons, Malfoy? A woman, perhaps?"

A smile lurked at the corners of her mouth, but his features pinched up into a frown.

"Mate," he said, looking sideways at her suddenly as if to gauge her response,"I might be a trifle open with you because my Veela has settled on you as a mate, but it is hard for the man I am."

A delicate eyebrow rose as she asked, "To accept a Mudblood as your mate?"

"No." He took a huge breath, the first telling action he'd taken since she'd entered the room and glared at her.

He was used to silences and revelled in the quiet, but not this time. As the silence stretched, he begrudgingly said, "You are a very trying woman, Granger. I'm not one to break the silence."

"Jolly for you, Malfoy. You haven't answered my question yet." She tapped her foot on the floor and looked at him, a smile still playing on her lips. "And I have no objections about showing my impatience."

He shook his head as if wondering what he'd done to deserve this and the corner of his lips tipped up in an awkward smile. "It is hard for the wizard part of me to open up as you call it. I am an extremely private person, if you hadn't noticed already. I rarely, if ever, speak more than a few sentences." On second thought, he added, "An unfortunate consequence of my upbringing, I'm afraid."

Silence ensued again, and it didn't take long for Hermione to start fidgeting again. Draco, however, was fighting to keep himself in check as his Veela, pleased with the proximity to its mate, was itching to get closer.

As he began to quickly lose the fight with his Veela, he asked Hermione to leave. "You might want to go now, Granger. My veela and I are rather uncomfortable at the moment."

Hermione's face scrunched up in thought. "Isn't a Veela supposed to be more amiable about spending more time with a mate? I'm pretty sure it was in Magical Beasts And Where To Find Them. I believe the exact sentence was, A Veela aims to be in as much proximity to its mate, especially before the mating. The mate's smell keeps the Veela in check until the actual mating procedure is completed."

"Process, Granger, not procedure." The words slipped out of Draco before he thought about it, and he started to add something to cover it up when he heard a giggle.

"A book snob too, Malfoy. What else do I not know about you?" Hermione teased.

Draco decided to finish the conversation as his Veela tried to break free. "A lot, Granger. You do not know the first thing about me. But you do need to leave right now. Both of us- I mean I- clamour for you, and this proximity is not enough. I'm trying to stop my Veela from reaching for you, and I'm losing the fight fast."

He rose from behind the desk to beside her, planning to leave the room himself if she didn't and his hands clenched, nails biting into his palm as he waited for her reply. Her tinier hand covered his fist, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"I'm an inherently violent person, Granger, and the Veela side of me, more powerful. Together, we're a force to be reckoned with. Now that we've –I've – found you, it only makes me more paranoid, and unpredictable. You really need to leave. Now would be good Granger."

"Hermione."

He levelled a questioning glance at her as he suppressed his desire to haul her out into the open from this confined room.

"Hermione is my name. You might not be a very good man, and I have my fair share of hate for you, but I believe what my gut tells me, and I feel safe with you for now. I'm going to rely on my heart, like always, and I won't leave you to die. We can try to be more companionable, if you would like. The least I could do after you helped our side is save your hide."

"You'll always be Granger to me. You do not owe me anything, Granger, and I would rather you let me die than stay with me out of pity. If it was up to me, and you didn't see me pass out, I would have never let you know you're my mate and stayed halfway across the world so you can live your own life."

Hermione rose from the chair and moved closer to him, as he tightened his body in response. She seemed to know how to push his buttons, and was very close to blowing him up. "I'll thank you for your concern, Malfoy, and your selflessness on my behalf. But I'm a big girl, and I have no compulsions about letting your Veela die if you turn out to be a giant prat. I happen to be giving you a chance here and you might as well use it the best way you can."

Draco leaned as far back as he could so her scent wouldn't tease his nose and clenched his teeth tight as he spoke through them. "Since you won't go out of her, I'll settle for your charming company. It'll calm my Veela, if not anything else. Allow me to accompany you to the library, if you will. I'm sure it'll be much suited to your taste, and we shall discuss Longbottom's little problem there."

"And the others?"

Hermione shot him a glance as he ushered her out of the door and took a sigh of relief, not answering her question. "My Veela is rather tense at the moment. Blaise and Longbottom are already there."

"Why do you refer to your Veela as if it isn't you, Malfoy?"

"Oh, it's me all right, Granger."

Sniffing at his non-answer, Hermione started to walk down the hallway, talking a few steps only to realize he wasn't following her and looked back at him. He was looking at her, his eyes narrowed, then shook his head and came to stand by her side waving her to continue walking.

"My Veela, I mean me." He sighed then, shooting her an apologetic glance.

They were at the library door, and he moved to open it for them. Laying a hand on her shoulder as they went through the opened door, he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "The Veela wasn't so much of an entity before, Granger, and I'm only just getting used to it though I imagine it will come in time. Do be patient with my poor self."

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**A/N: I know, finally! This is a total Dramione chapter and the next one, when I write it, will be about Neville's secret. Keep reading... Hope you like it! **

**Review please! Pretty please.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling , I would give you Harry Potter and its characters, but it's not mine to give.**

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"Look who the snake dragged in!" Blaise's mocking expression instantly changed Draco's neutral expression to a sneer as he entered the library with Hermione.

"Cat." Draco and Hermione said simultaneously, sending Neville into fits of laughter.

"They're perfect for each other, aren't they?" continued Neville, in between bouts of laughter, ignoring Draco's glare, while Hermione got lost in the books, stacked until she couldn't see the end anymore.

Her curiosity knew no bounds as she reverently brushed her fingertips along the book spines, carefully avoiding ones that looked like they had curses on them. It was an image she'd entertained of paradise and she didn't know what to do with herself, as she roamed among the bookshelves, staring with her mouth a little open in awe.

"Draco, did you know you have almost every restricted dark book ever published in the wizarding world? And a whole section dedicated to them?"

"It was a hobby of his father's. And since when has he been Draco?" Blaise asked, teasingly, though they could hear the faint tone of envy in his voice.

Draco shook his head in exasperation at the men and slumped carefully into a fluffy armchair before turning to look at Blaise.

Hermione, however, jumped to ask Blaise before Draco got the chance to speak though. "Who is your mate, Blaise?"

"Hermione," started Draco, not wanting to start the sensitive topic at the moment, since it felt as if meeting Hermione had revived his hope of living and he was leaving Blaise behind.

He felt guilty.

Blaise must have understood, because he answered Draco's unasked question.

"You don't need to feel guilty, Draco. You said the same thing to me, remember?"

"It's not the same, Blaise."

"I know, Draco. Believe me, I know." Blaise's voice was colder now, as though shutting himself out from his own pain.

The coldness was short lived though, as Neville slapped a hand on his shoulder, and Hermione ruffled his hair, both presumably for comfort. Draco growled at that and Blaise was highly uncomfortable with the affection, so he smoothly rose off the couch he was sitting on beside Neville and motioned for Hermione to take a seat.

Hermione, however, had heard Draco's growl and went to sit on the armrest of his cushiony chair, ruffled his hair, as he leaned into her. Draco closed his eyes and tried to focus on her closeness, rather than thinking about yanking her into the chair on top of him, since she probably wouldn't appreciate him doing so a day after finding out about being his mate. He was going to be content with what she would give him, for now.

Blaise looked away, not wanting to find himself at the bottomless pit of depression, especially when there were people counting on him, and sat down on the couch again. He was at least going to be a good friend until he died anyway.

Neville's question cut through the silence in the room. "You didn't answer Hermione's question Blaise."

"How do you know if I know who my mate is?"

"I know, Blaise," started Neville, his eyes glazing over, "because I see the same look on your face in my mirror every day. I know the look of a man too far away from the woman he loves. It is a woman I have forgotten, is it not?"

Blaise looked at Draco, a hint of a question in his eyes.

"Don't do that, Blaise. You're shutting me out again. I've always hated that. I don't know why I know that, but at the moment, I want you to stop putting that unflappable face as a façade and stop have conversations with Draco in your freakish way, right now. And I want you to answer the question. Or tell us if you don't want to answer."

Draco shrugged to say as if to say 'your choice' and closed his eyes again, involuntarily leaning into Hermione a fraction.

Blaise realized he might as well tell Neville and Hermione, though both of them would lose any romantic notions of setting him up with his mate once they found out who she was, and he didn't want them to feel pity for him yet, but he wanted comfort in the belief that they would take care of her after his death and he would take what he could get.

"Ginny Weasley."

"What?"

"She's his mate." answered Draco, as both Hermione and Neville stared at Blaise, shocked at his answer.

Hermione leaped onto his answer though as she asked, "But Blaise, isn't a Veela mate supposed to be just made for the Veela, as a soulmate? Can a mate be in love with someone other than the Veela? I don't think there has ever been an instance of it. And if you tell Ginny, maybe-"

"NO!" Blaise's loud reply made Hermione jump and she landed in Draco's lap as his arms came around her. Squeaking at falling on him, she moved off him, and as she noticed Draco's mouth slightly curl down in disappointment, she waved her wand to extend his armchair and settled in beside him, legs lightly touching.

"I would rather she let me die than stay with me out of pity."

Blaise's tone was hard and Hermione had no doubt he meant what he said. "That's what Draco said too."

"They do say the same things." Neville said, giving a small smile to Blaise. "We'll figure something out."

Blaise shook his head. "There's nothing you can do, Neville. Let it be. And this meeting is supposed to be about you and not me."

"Well, we'll discuss you later." Blaise started to argue but Hermione cut him off. "Now that we've decide to tackle Blaise's little problem later," she continued, ignoring Draco's chuckle, "we'll think about Neville's problem first. He's forgotten a woman, he said?"

Draco sighed at her question. "Yes, a woman. And two kids."

"WHAT?" Neville's outburst made Hermione jump a little and Draco drew her to him with a hand, rubbing circles on her back with his fingers.

Still uncomfortable with Malfoy touching her, Hermione moved off the chair, ignoring Malfoy's sound of disappointment and went toward Neville, trying to calm him.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason you forgot, Neville. Let Draco explain completely." Hermione said, taking care to not touch Neville, and looked expectantly at Draco.

"A memory spell was cast on him. Not the kind you put on your parents, Granger, but a darker one." Draco said, with a quick glance at Hermione's surprised face, and continued, "For a certain time period, trying to get the memories back will erase the memories completely."

"So all this is pointless and I'm going to lose my memory altogether?" Neville's hysterical tone cut through Draco's explanation.

Blaise answered Neville's question with a roll of his eyes. "Stop being so bloody dramatic Neville. We put all your memories in storage before you had the spell cast and they can be retrieved if you do lose your memory. But we can't use it unless it happens. So we're stuck with trying to get your memory back."

Hermione was thinking about all the memory spells she'd read, trying to figure out which one it was. "What's the time period?"

"Two years, so escaping now made sense, because I didn't want to run the risk of getting caught before, not that I can't get out of their clutches. They only thought they caught me the first time anyway, because I let them." Smirking, Draco continued, "I figured it was safer for me to stay in there without having to look behind my back all the time for two years. And by the way, the spell is called 'Obliviscor', Granger. I can hear the wheels turning in your head from all the way here. The spell is an adaption of the 'Obliviate', as discovered by the wizard Gellert Grindelwald. He tried to use it on the old coot Dumbledore, but he obviously failed and it backfired on him, which is why he couldn't tell the Dark Lord where the Elder Wand was when questioned. The Dark Lord didn't know about the spell, forced him to remember, because of which his memory was lost, and he was killed for his uselessness."

"Memories are triggered by casual contact with recurring people in the memories, and physical triggers. I remember this spell, because I researched it to use on my parents. But I didn't find enough information on it, because it is obviously a dark spell, so I decided not to use it. It was a smart move, Draco."

Draco could feel a smile forming on his face, so he gave it free reign. "Thanks, Granger. I'm glad you think so highly of me. After all, you don't find smart men like me just anywhere, especially because you hang around with the Wonky Double."

Blaise sniggered. "Good one, Draco."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And an arrogant man. Harry and Ron are smart too, and you have to know where to look."

"I doubt a microscopic spell would help find any brain cells with those two." Draco muttered, but was wise enough to not pursue it.

Neville didn't join in the conversation and looked very worried. "Who are my wife and kids, Draco? Are they okay?"

"As far as I know, they're alive. I've received encrypted messages every month, but I haven't seen them for as long as you have. Askaban, remember?"

Blaise shushed Draco. "They're perfectly fine, Neville. I see them at least twice a week, and they miss you. Hearing about you isn't the same as seeing you for real."

Neville asked again, his voice pleading. "Who are they? Names, please."

"Don't freak out. Granger? Neville?" Draco waited for both of them to nod in agreement before taking a deep breath.

"Pansy Parkinson. Longbottom now, I suppose. It was due to her that Blaise and I started to talk to Neville at all."

"You have a boy and a girl. Frank is three and Alice is two. And yes, they were named after your parents. They're amazing kids and I babysit a lot. Uncle Blaise is the coolest ever!" Blaise's voice resonated with happiness as he spoke of them.

Draco wasn't to be shown up. "Just wait till they meet me Blaise. Just wait."

"Pansy?" Hermione was shocked at the identity of Neville's wife. "How on earth did that happen?"

"That is a story for another day Granger. But for now, I think we've had enough surprises, don't you think? How about I show you the Malfoy gardens, so Neville gets a chance to digest all of this and then we'll all go see Pansy?"

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**A/N: Hope you liked it! Do review!**

**Lynda06: **I'm so glad you like it! Keep reading...

**Bibiche.d: **I love Veela Draco too! :)

**marianna79: **Ah so many questions! XD I did answer most of them in this chapter and I'm so happy you gave the story another try. Draco isn't too dark and with both Hermione and Neville to keep an eye on him, he'll be just dark enough. It isn't Luna, though it was a good guess. :D Do let me know what you think about all of it...

**Kats02980416: **Draco is highly controlled, and Hermione is a strong woman in this story. Glad you're reading! Do review again, I'd love to know what you think.


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